


A Journey to Winterspring

by plaktow



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Curses, F/M, Games, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, Other, Quests, Undead, Video & Computer Games, Wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2013132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaktow/pseuds/plaktow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A warlock's journey to Winterspring comes to a halt as she is surprised by a handsome, but very human, rogue. The warlock, an undead member of the Horde, finds herself at an impasse with a man of the Alliance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Journey to Winterspring

**Author's Note:**

> Edited on 29th July, fixed several embarrassing spelling mistakes and such. Hope you enjoy the story! :)

The winds were more bitter than any of the insults I had heard during my life. The sheer coldness bit it's way through my thin robes, waving the cloak in my back and making my silvery headband as cold as ice. The wind screamed as it whipped the dead trees and brought snow up in tiny tornadoes. It was difficult to see anything, for the snow was bright and hurt my eyes; I was accustomed to the everlasting twilight of my homelands. It was really quite incredible to feel so very cold even though warm blood hadn't run in my veins for years. I tried to wind my cloak around me tighter and walked on. At least I could feel the path under my bony feet.

I didn't, however, feel at all as miserable as I would have had I been alone. Helgarth hovered by my side in its eternal silence, only barely affected by the strongest winds. The black cloud on which my voidwalker hovered seemed to defy all weather, and Helgarth itself knew no pain, no warmth, no cold. At least that's what they told us, and there was no saying otherwise no matter how long one gazed into a voidwalker's expressionless face. Again I had trusted my life into those nearly transparent hands when we had left the jungles for the freezing nothingness of Winterspring. We had to get to the city of Everlook, we'd been told, and a warlock does as the Horde commands. Helgarth had been with me in burning deserts of Tanaris, in the comfortable darkness of Tirisfal and in the ever-busy capital of Orgrimmar. He had followed me to danger, he had fell in battle and he had returned to my summons, never betraying me. As I was unable to betray The Dark Lady, Helgarth was unable to betray me.

I tried to gaze towards the trees, hoping to find something to curl into, to feel the comforting misery so common to my kind. Helgarth waved its hands, and again I couldn't tell whether it was from boredom, pride or whether it even realised its hands were moving. The staff in my back was growing heavier by the minute, not to mention the several pouches attached to my belt. Blinded by the snow as I was, I saw a glimpse of a rather rare flower amidst all the snow, but was too tired to go and pick it up. Now, I knew my potions, and I knew that I could bloody well survive without one Icecap blossom - that is, if I could get out of this wind. Coldness couldn't kill me (I wondered if anything can kill an undead anyway), but my nerves were close to collapsing. Wind, snow, wind, snow, a howling owlbeast, wind, snow. That was all. That was Winterspring.

Helgarth stopped. It took a second for me to realize that he had stopped because I had stopped, and another second to realize I had seen something. There were... there where huts close by, now that I stopped, but no smoke coming from their direction. Abandoned huts? Why not, I couldn't understand who would want to live here, apart from the insane researchers willing to find out why other furbolgs are more aggressive than others. Living in a place like this could turn even the most peaceful butterfly into a dragonlike menace!

 'Hello.'

I turned around faster than the wind blows, but saw no one. There had been a voice, a deep male voice saying "hello", hadn't there? I cast a quick spell to reveal any invisible creatures, and yet there was no one. The wind, it must have been the wind. My ears were probably full of snow by now anyway. I shrugged and made my way towards the huts, much more resolutely than earlier.

The huts were simple tents made of sturdy leather. Snow had piled on their roofs, but both tents were sound and empty. As I sat down to the other tent, the temperature seemed to rise immediately by several degrees. I asked Helgarth to guard for any hostile creatures, and fell asleep in full armor.

I woke up after some hours of dreamless sleep, just to notice Helgarth was gone and that it indeed was warmer in the hut.

 'Slept well?'

I would have bounced up, cast a few extremely painful spells and commanded Helgarth to kill whoever disturbed me, if only I could have moved. I couldn't. I couldn't speak nor move, and there aren't many enemies who can stun a warlock. Sadly, members of the despicable, pathetic, worm-infested, disgusting Alliance were amongst them, and definitely the only ones who could talk Gutterspeak. It was more than clear now where Helgarth was.

'Oh, take it easy girlie, I ain't gonna hurt you. Yet. You are stupid to wander around here alone... I followed you yesterday, right behind you, walked your footsteps, guarded your sleep and you didn't even return my greeting. How unpolite,' said a stranger. He stood at the huts door, grinning, clothed in leather and plate, with sword by his side and a hood covering most of his face. A rogue of the most disgusting kind: human kind.

Now, I've seen death, been there done that, and I'm not afraid of it. I only feel anger and shame when in a tricky situation like this, but something in the rogue made me feel at ease. When I was younger I hated every member of the Alliance, those who had slain us, who had driven us from our home (and in whose previous home our current capital was, but that was unimportant), but later I just ignored them, in some cases even helped a young adventurer (again, that was only when he was facing an enemy that was also my enemy). This rogue seemed to be a gullible one, stupid and ignorant, who'd easily leave a warlock alone if lulled to a false feeling of safety. The stunning effect was fading from me. The rogue started to chant again and clearly was afraid for a second, then apparently grew more relaxed since I did not attack him. I only sat up, slowly, asking what he hell was he doing in MY hut, and gave him a quick reminder of my loyalty by "accidentally" showing a medal I'd received when battling his kind. It made no impact on him. Maybe he didn't even know what the medal was. Understandable, poor little fellow.

'Your voidwalker is in better place now,' he grinned again.  'Your staff is right there on the ground, but if you even try to get it, your dead, poison-filled body will be found from there too. I only want to talk to you, young mage-'

'Warlock,' I interrupted in what I hoped to be a irritable tone of voice. Excuse me, mister rogue, since when had mages travelled around with voidwalkers?

'Warlock. But most importantly, you're one of the... the Forsaken, yes? You see, I find your kind... fascinating. You were like us once, weren't you? Warm-blooded with soft skin and springy muscles.'

The rogue sat down beside me, looking at me like some freak and touching my cold cheek. His hand was warm and had a sickeningly warm color. I could feel the warmth of his breath. He was so full of life! Several nasty spells crawled their way from the depths of my mind to the tip of my tongue, waiting to be spoken. I could see how a good old-fashioned corruption would break his mind, and how the shadowflame would dance in his eyes...

The rogue had his whole palm on my cheek by the time I slipped a spell or two. His face got distorted with pain, his muscles cramped and his hand was pulled from my face, quickly but not quickly enough. A swift laughter emerged from my lips as I jumped for my wand..  
... and collapsed on my knees from the combined effect of all the poisons that struck my body at the same time. If the rogue was in pain, I was in tormenting agony. I got weaker every second, losing strength with every snowflake that hit the ground outside the hut, my mind getting more and more fuzzy. Antidote... no antidote in my bags... they had told me to practice first aid, and had I done that? Oh I wish I had, now I wish I had. The rogue behind me was growling in anger as the spells vanished together with my strength.

He yanked at my cloak, which tore apart and fell to the ground. His deep voice spoke about not being a nice mage-I-mean-warlock and about having his way whether I wanted it or not. He was insane, quite clearly, and it wasn't too comforting to know I was alone in the middle of a snowstorm, poisoned to the bone and only an insane human to accompany me. He said I wasn't going to die. He said I would be fine in a few minutes. He stared into my eyes, probably wondering if the pupils of the Undead are always like that, and couldn't apparently decide what to do. Testing my pulse or breath wasn't really an option, after all.

This was typical of humans, I assumed. First they stalk you, then they stun as you're waking up, then try to be gentle and finally they strike you with all the poisons they happen to have. Or then it was men in general, I wasn't quite sure. Could be both. And then again they try to save your life and once again, be tender and caring. Did I already mention I think they are just a bit disgusting?

I stayed still. He just sat there, staring at me, clearly bothered by the fact that I didn't bother to breathe at all. Warmth from his body radiated through my torn cloth armor, and his breathing tickled my face and neck. When he then bent his head towards me and pressed his lips against mine, I suddenly didn't even want to move. His touch sent strange shivers down my spine. I tried not to tremble, even though my body and my mind were screaming at me, my brain nearly forcing all my muscles to shiver. Life, accursed _life_  was streaming from him to me. His touch felt better than any healing I had ever received. Life... I had been yearning for it for so very long. He kissed me again, lifting my chin with his hand and let his agile tongue travel over my lips and down my neck. I closed my eyes and explained to myself that it was so I couldn't see the humiliation I was in.

'Don't be scared,' he whispered, nuzzling my neck. 'I intend you no harm- oh,' he said suddenly and touched my face. I opened my eyes in wonder, and realized that he was wiping away a tear from my cheek. I hadn't noticed I had been crying, and he clearly saw my confusion, for he smiled a gentle, almost loving smile.

'It's okay,' he said in sweet, sweet voice. He kept repeating that phrase for a long time, and every word he uttered calmed me down more and more. I drifted away from the deep desert of fear and hatred, and let him carry me to a tender moment between a man and a woman. No spells, no disguises, no lies.

He gripped me tightly by my hand when he realized I finally gave in and answered to his kisses. He had lost his ability to speak, he was too excited, too aroused by my actions. I could have killed him in an instant, but that option didn't even cross my mind. Feeling his arousal, I felt something my kind can't feel - or so they say. My hands found their way under his sturdy leather vest and soft silky shirt; he fumbled a bit with my robes, but found soon a way to touch my cold, shivering skin. He was surprised about how it felt, I could sense it, but he didn't stop. Thank all the gods of Azeroth, he did not stop. Outside, the wind was howling and the storm kept getting worse, but inside the hut was an asylum of tranquillity, and to be very honest, of lust.

We both knew the dangers of the outside world, but we didn't let them bother. We were no more enemies. He slowly removed my robe, stripped off his own vest and shirt and nearly tore the rest of our clothes off, piling them to the floor in a single mess. Our bodies were soon entangled the way our clothes were. His breath brought the missing color to my cheeks, the coldness of my skin cooled him down, his golden hair entangled with mine and our fingers crossed. He caressed every inch of my body, and his questing fingers were followed by his agile tongue. He entered me. I did nothing to stop him. I didn't want to. We drew strength from the storm outside, made love more fiercely than either of us had ever experienced. He was strong and skilled, and I obeyed even his smallest wishes. Together we flew higher than dragons could ever fly, yet with every thrust he carried us higher, using every bit of his strength and wondrous agility to bring us both to the very top, to an exploding, shared climax.

I collapsed to the floor of the hut, shaking, tears flowing down my cheeks. It was too much for me to handle. The rogue slowly took me to his arms, held me tight... and touched me again. Licked my neck. He wasn't done with me quite yet. With a grin on my face I bit his ear, very gently, and pressed him down on the ground before me. It was my turn.

The following morning was a silent one. The air stood still and a cold, soft mattress of snow was covering the ground and trees everywhere outside the hut. The rogue was still asleep when I got up and gathered all my belongings. After lifting up my hood to cover me from the coldness I stood still, watching him. He breathed slowly and peacefully, in deep sleep. His hair was a tangled mess after last night. I covered him with his heavy woolen cloak, turned and walked out to the white world.

After hours of walking the endless snowy paths and plains I started to calm down. Smoke was rising from the huts in Winterspring, and members of both factions were pouring in and out from the city gates. No one so much as glanced at my direction when I entered the city of Everlook. Reading the shop signs everywhere I walked on, finally found an alchemists shop and entered to do some shopping. A smirking goblin took the payment for several scrolls I bought, and was about to say something when I felt someone calling for me. A friend... another warlock. And... and a priest... and a warrior. Calling for me to join them. In my mind I saw a picture of a green valley, filled with battle cries and stomping from tens of feet and hooves. I grabbed my belongings tight and gave in to the calling. The salesman didn't even blink as my figure faded away in purple haze.

The orcish warrior, a rather fearsome sight to be honest, was grinning when I appeared in the cabin in the battlefield of Arathi Basin. There were others present too, all in all ten members of the Horde, all ready and eager to defend the area that was righfully ours. Just before the gates opened and we were allowed to do our part in the battle, each member of our troop was fully buffed, as we say; they had protective spells, aggressive spells and healing spells cast on them to assist in the fight. Our mounts screamed and their hooves struck sparks as we rode through the gates, yelling like maniacs, feeling no fear when hearing the battlecries of the Alliance from the other side of the valley.

The fight was even. Just before our troop was called out I stood defending a farm that had produced crops for the Horde for years, and if I had anything to say about it, would continue to do so.

A sharp pain in my back. Paralysis.

More pain, slashes of knives, no sound of whatsoever.

Bleeding and whining like a child I blurted out the only spell I could think of: Death Coil. I could finally heard footsteps as the attacker ran away uncontrollably, and found the strenght to utter another spell when my magic leeched some of his health to me. The bastard that had attacked me was now fully engulfed in flames, feeling incredibly bad and slowly dying. A green mist surrounded me, and a kind druid behind me was smiling. I had no time to thank him; the druid suddenly changed shape, and where once had stood a Tauren was now nothing but paw prints, and the bear it had become was sinking it's deadly claws to my attacker. Only one shadowbolt, covered in dark light, left my hands and brought the attacked to his knees. The bear-formed druid roared in rage, and I quickly ran to loot the corpse: in battle, everything is allowed and I could use every penny.

My victim was my rogue. I saw his golden hair covered in blood stains, his soft hands gripping two extremely sharp knives, his sweet face covered in sweat and frozen in a grimace of endless pain. I could hear the druid laughing before he walked away to celebrate our victory. Without hesitation I reached for my bag, rummaged for what seemed like hours, and finally found what I was looking for: a small bottle, sealed tightly, filled with black liquid that seemed to burn in blue flames. No label. Saying no prayers, just quickly making sure no one was close, I closed my own eyes and stopped breathing. I poured the liquid to his lips, threw out the bottle and stepped aside to wait for the Plague to work its awful magics.

Time was growing short. Soon I would be summoned away, and gods knew I wouldn't ever meet this man again. Finally I closed my eyes for a quick prayer, and then got up, about to leave. His body had gone. The grass was bent from where the dead rogue had been, now covered in a shadow. The reason for the shadow stood before me: the result of the Plague. His golden hair had turned to bright white, his eyes were now glowing, and he had shrunken in size. The previously Human, now Undead rogue stood still. For the first time in my life a real, honest fear overcame me as he examined his new form. The Plague of the Scourge, the disease that had created the Undead, the liquid I had given him had turned him to pale blue color after tearing him away from Death and returned him back to Azeroth to continue his life as one of us Forsaken.

As his eyes met mine, the comfortable purple haze of summoning covered us both, calling us away from the battlefield into the safety of the Undercity.

'Undercity,ä he whispered as we appeared from thin air to the hall beneath the ruins of the city. Other fighters smiled at us. From their stage, Lord Varimathras and Lady Sylvanas looked at the rogue with stern look on their faces, a look that soon melted to an accepting nod. As my rogue spoke, his voice was still deep, but now it had the faint echo common to the Undead, the echo which always reminded us from where we come: the grave. He was calm.

'Undercity. Previously the capital for Humans... is now again my home.'


End file.
